


Close Shave

by ne0ncryptid



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23783227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ne0ncryptid/pseuds/ne0ncryptid
Summary: An excerpt from a CheRP thread that I'm posting here for a verification thing. I might post more of this if my RP partner is cool with it!
Kudos: 3





	Close Shave

The seaside town of Goldgrove Port was a welcome sight to see when the traveling party crested the hills surrounding the stone-walled city, the sun just beginning to set over the ocean and casting the landscape in a golden glow.

Their last job had gone well enough, in the end, the band of sellswords successfully recovering a caravan of exotic trade goods that had been intercepted on the way to Dailion Keep. They'd salvaged everything, and been paid well by the merchant who commissioned the recovery. But discovering that the very bandits who'd intercepted the cargo were led by a former member of their crew had been disheartening to say the least, and Datakh Shield-Splitter was very ready to wash the stench of this mission away from him.

The actual stench, he'd managed well enough at a roadside inn where they'd stayed on their way into town, scraping off the grime of the road and the blood of battle and slowly coming back into his own skin. But Datakh knew he wouldn't quite feel himself until he visited Tavora the Barber, and more than anything found himself looking forward to her soothing little fingers servicing him with a shampoo and a shave once they were back in town.

The rest of his crew tended to taunt him soundly for keeping his hair so long and thick despite a profession that clearly did not suit that choice, but of course such a band of scoundrels wouldn't understand the luxury of having it cared for. Also, it was a cultural thing, of course. Obviously.

He paid their taunting little mind as they made their way to the south gate, through the deceptively named little hovel of Silkshade, a shantytown at the border of the port that housed many of the workers of Goldgrove's booming textile industry. As the rest of his crew made their way to spend their well-earned gold at the city's taverns, Datakh instead headed alone through the cobblestone streets of Goldgrove's Old Town, to the market square where the town's oldest general goods store made its home. He smiled when he saw the barber's chair, glad that she hadn't closed shop for the evening.

"Tavora!" Datakh called as he approached, his gruff voice clear over the bustle of the streets. "Are you in the mood for a challenge?"

Datakh was a somewhat rare sight in these parts, a full-blooded orc with the towering frame and broad build characteristic of his race. Clad in a leather brigandine over a quilted shirt, heavy boots thudding on the stairs as he made his way up to the shaded porch.

"Because I've brought you one," he said with a rogueish, tusky grin, bringing his mane of windblown, tangled hair over one broad shoulder.

"What do you think? Can you save it?"


End file.
